


throw me a line

by kamsangi



Category: Day6 (Band), Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29379087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamsangi/pseuds/kamsangi
Summary: And then, in what’s probably the worst timing of his life, the water on the other side of the wall cuts off abruptly just as he huffs out an almost-silent moan, catching on the back of his teeth as a rough exhale.Not silent enough.Then, Brian says, after a torturously long pause, “Hey, Chan.”
Relationships: Bang Chan/Kang Younghyun | Young K
Comments: 34
Kudos: 184





	throw me a line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pantone325C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pantone325C/gifts).



> this was written as a request for my very wonderful friend pika in exchange for letting me adopt one of her old skz albums. lots of love, hope you enjoy this lmao. this has absolutely zero plot or canon believability but it truly had to happen.

He shuts his eyes and breathes in the steam rising off the tiles.

The water pounds hot against his skin, but he doesn’t hesitate. It stings his cheeks, the backs of his hands, the sloping curves of his feet; it soothes the ache in his arms, limp by his sides as he tilts his face up towards the wide shower-head.

As much as he likes showers in the comfort of his own dorm, he can’t ever fault the gym showers, especially when there’s no one else around to rush him into finishing up quicker. Like rainfall, water patters around his feet and echoes, lulling him into that nice, relaxed post-workout feeling as he pushes his wet hair back off his forehead and exhales deeply.

It’s been too long. Chris has missed this. Savouring the rush that fills his head after every lift, the soreness in his limbs that likely spells the end of any work even remotely being done tonight in favour of the comfort of his bunk. He’s also missed this specifically—being completely alone.

He gets those days, sometimes. Rarely. There’s always someone else at the dorm, and it’s not like the walls are particularly thin, but Chris is ever reluctant to actually put any private time to good use considering the way the others tend to barge in on occasion.

But, this.

Chris keeps his eyes closed, bites his lip, and palms at himself, slow and measured.

He gets to take his time today.

Fingers soap-slick, he lets his cock glide through the loose grip of his fist. He doesn’t have to look at himself to know that he’s getting hard already just touching himself like this. His heels rock back slightly along the wet tile of the floor as the pleasure begins to build. It’s nice. It feels good. He hasn’t done this in a while, not properly, not since he’d sprained his wrist. Using his other hand to jerk off had just been awkward and unsatisfying, too unused to the angle and the feel of it to actually enjoy himself.

Chris breathes in, and out. Ignores the phantom twinge in his wrist as he twists his hand around himself, warm and slick. He knows it won’t take long for him to come, not this time, not when he’s already pent-up and aching for it, not wh—

Metres away from the stalls, the door opens.

He freezes.

There’s a thump, likely a bag dropping onto one of the benches, and then the sound of a zip being pulled. Chris opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, completely disbelieving of his luck. He hadn’t remembered seeing anyone else walk in after he had—but then again, the gym’s big, and he’d been pretty focused on working out after months of not getting to, and—

Footsteps approach the stalls.

As they get closer, a familiar voice hums, low and lovely. It’s the same voice Chris falls asleep to almost every night, whether it’s old voicemails or newly-posted YouTube covers. Songs he knows by heart. Words he replays in his mind far too often for it to be normal.

The door to the stall next to him opens and closes. A few moments later, Brian turns the shower dial up, and water shatters around the shadow of his feet, just visible through the gap.

Chris doesn’t dare to make a single move.

Logically, he knows he should probably just finish his shower and leave before he’s seen. Stave off the embarrassment, run back to the dorms and maybe wait for the others to fall asleep before taking another shower or something. That’s the rational move here.

He’s not feeling particularly rational right now. Not—not knowing that Brian is right next to him, taking a shower. Running his hands over himself, humming some old tune that Chris should probably recognise.

His hand’s still on his cock.

Bad idea, Chris. A no-good, very bad idea.

Chris strokes himself just once, slow and quiet and hoping the sound of the shower is enough of a cover. It won’t take long, he tells himself. It won’t. Nothing beyond what’s perfunctory. He just needs to get off quick, and it’ll be fine.

And then, in what’s probably the worst timing of his life, the water on the other side of the wall cuts off abruptly just as he huffs out an almost-silent moan, catching on the back of his teeth as a rough exhale.

Not silent enough.

The sound echoes off the tiles, and Chris squeezes his eyes shut, praying that Brian lets it go.

Then, Brian says, after a torturously long pause, “Hey, Chan.”

Chris lets out the breath he’d been holding. “Hi,” he says, voice feeble and tiny. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Your stuff’s outside. I got you those shoes. For your birthday.”

“Oh.” Chris’ face heats up. “Right.”

There’s a laugh, but it doesn’t sound mocking. More… fond, than anything else. “Your wrist’s doing better, I’m guessing?”

“Sort of.” Chris can’t believe that they’re having a conversation right here, right now, while he’s still achingly hard, pulse rushing like he’s running a marathon. “Um. It’s still twinging a little.”

Another pause, and a cough. “So,” Brian says, “need a hand?”

Chris inhales so sharply that he’s almost certain that Brian hears.

He didn’t just— _there’s no way—_

Brian patiently waits for an answer, not making a single move from where he’s standing. And there’s absolutely no way that this is happening, except it is, and Chris is just letting the gym water bill continue to rack up as he stands here like an idiot with his dick in his own hand. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

Chris unlocks the door.

He’s not allowed a single moment to contemplate what he’s just done, because the door’s pushing open a second later, and Brian’s slipping into the little stall and dropping to his knees. Chris gapes at him, feeling a bit unfocused as his gaze slips from the water that’s still pearling along the cut of his jaw, to the hair that’s slicked back along his forehead, to the expanse of bare skin that just keeps going. “I know I said I’d lend you a hand,” Brian says, lightly teasing, “but this seemed like a better idea in my head.”

Brian slides his mouth down Chris’ cock, and Chris jerks up involuntarily, one hand shooting out to scrabble for purchase along Brian’s shoulder. The whine he lets out is shaky, escaping through his clamped-together teeth. Brian’s mouth is hot, hotter than the water that’s still streaming down upon them, hot and slick and everything out of Chris’ wet dreams. “Mm,” Chris whimpers, trying his hardest to force his embarrassing noises back down, _“hah—”_

A wet pop reverberates through the empty bathroom when Brian pulls off to mouth a kiss along the underside of the head of Chris’ cock, tonguing along the thickest vein before sucking at the slit again, lapping with the flat of his tongue. It feels so good. The pleasure blurs Chris’ sight, makes his toes curl. “Nuh-uh,” Brian murmurs, barely audible over the shower, “I want to hear you, Chan-ah.”

Chris’ face feels overheated and flushed. “Hyung,” he says, breathless and needy as he cards his fingers through Brian’s hair, unsure if he’s even allowed to ask for anything, too shy to even think about it. The last time they’d ever let anything like this happen, just a couple of rushed, traded handjobs years ago, they hadn’t spoken about it ever again. _“Please.”_

Brian strokes along the base of his cock, and drops a kiss onto the head just as he rubs the pad of his thumb into his sac. Chris’ cock throbs. He feels like he could come at any second, if Brian would just put his mouth back on him again.

He does. Chris watches his length disappear into Brian’s mouth again, past the plush curve of his lips to slide along his tongue. He feels heavy with it, heavy with the need to come, heavy with the desire to just remain here like this, with Brian’s full attention on him, Brian making him feel so good, _Brian._

His feet start to slip a little, knees trembling so hard that he can barely hold himself up, but Brian reaches around him to grip the backs of his thighs to hold him up steadily, the muscles in his arms working to keep Chris from falling. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever done. Chris thinks he might explode. His fingers tighten in Brian’s long hair, and he barely gets through a, “Brian—” before he’s cut off by his own incoherent moan, sounding close to a sob, when Brian drags his tongue up, and sucks just along the head of his cock again.

It’s just enough to send him past the edge.

Chris doesn’t know how long it’s even been since Brian slipped into his stall, but when he finally comes, it feels like it’s barely been a minute. A minute of Brian’s gorgeous, clever mouth on him, a minute of Brian gazing up at him through thick, wet lashes, eyes dark with something that makes Chris shiver to think about.

He’s let back down on his feet as Brian spits. The water runs it all away, wiping clean the only evidence that anything’s happened here. It happened. Chris leans back against the closest wall, chest still heaving, lost for words.

Brian winces when he stands back up, rubbing at his knees. “Haven’t done that in a while,” he says, and Chris meets his eyes, blinking up at him with still-flushed cheeks, decidedly avoiding staring at the rest of him. As much as he keeps insisting he doesn’t work out enough, he looks good. And, Chris—Chris still wants.

(He will _always_ want.)

“Thanks,” Chris mumbles, rubbing at his neck. “Um. That was really good.”

“I’d hope so. I don’t get on my knees for just anyone.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Brian cups his chin in one hand, gentle as anything. “Wanted to hear you. You always make the prettiest sounds.”

Chris’ mouth falls open slightly, and he swallows the nervous giggle that threatens to rise in his throat.

“So cute,” Brian comments, gaze raking over the flush across Chris’ skin. “Look at you.”

“M’not,” Chris just says, feeling flustered beyond belief, _“hyung.”_

Brian just laughs softly, and thumbs at Chris’ lower lip, before unlocking the door and stepping back out. "If you're not working yourself to the bone again tonight," he says, "come get dinner with me."

"And then?" 

"And then," Brian says, "there's an unused soundproof room on the fifteenth floor that might have your name on it. If you'd like to return the favour."

Chris' heart skips. 

He turns the water off.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/SSEOMT) | [cc](http:/curiouscat.met/SSEOMT)


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